


Footballers Watch: Eurovision 2019

by kloppinthekop



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Boring James Milner, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Eurovision, Eurovision Song Contest 2019, Gerlonso - Freeform, M/M, Mo's fluffy cat, Mojan, Other, carraville, deledier, hatari, hendollana, it's like Gogglebox, ribena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 05:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18866575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kloppinthekop/pseuds/kloppinthekop
Summary: What it says on the tin.





	Footballers Watch: Eurovision 2019

**Author's Note:**

> (You can skip ahead to your favorite ship and I promise to only be a tiny bit offended lol.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t know any of these people and this is all fiction. (Eric Dier’s love for grapes is canon though. As is Hendo’s obsession with hair gel.)

_Jamie Carragher and Gary Neville_

When Gary sits down next to Carra, he’s already scowling. “Why are we doing this?”

“They call it the gay Olympics, Gaz! It’s our duty to watch this kind of stuff now!”

Gary just rolls his eyes.

“An’ you know, it’s all very political too. Now I may just be a simple lad from Bootle but-”

Gary is already tuning him out, as the music starts. Kind of wishes he could tune out the annoying beat of the first song too. Is this what the kids listen to these days?

Meanwhile, Jamie is amused by how easy it is to rile him up. He’s not really all that interested, but, he sings along to a few songs – well, of course, those few being limited to the ones in English. “Friend of a friend of a friend of a friend” he sings over and over rather tunelessly, only a beer in, clapping along very close to the side of Gary’s stormy face.

He’s genuinely amused by the geezer singing for San Marino. Carra keeps poking his finger in Gary’s face, to the beat, shimmying along too. (And oh god the music is awful, but shit, Gaz’s expressions are even funnier! Practically murderous at this point.) “Say NA NA NAAAAA.” A twitch. “NA NA NAAAAA.” Gary pinches his forehead.

His face is _glorious_ when Carra starts trying to copy the Cyprus lady’s moves in front of the telly. “What, why the long face Gaz? Oh, am I blocking the telly? Thought you said you didn’t want to watch. Did you miss an important bit? Do we need to” – pauses – “put this on _replaaay_?” Fuckin’ glorious.

Jamie’s actually enjoying himself at this point. Gary looks like he wants to strangle someone. Maybe himself.  Or grab the fencing sword out from those Greece dancers’ hands and stab Carra. Worth it, Jamie thinks.

He prances around the couch with his arms above his head like a pretty pretty ballerina. He hears Gary let out a long, exasperated sigh.

𝄓

Right, he really has no clue how they’ve (well, how he’s) made it to the fourteenth performance, but, when Carra remarks that the Israeli guy’s face looks very punchable, somehow (he has no idea why) Gary’s paying enough attention at that point to agree. Jamie looks delighted. “See, I knew you’d get into it! This is your second favorite sport: making fun of people!”

Gary is never going to admit it, but he’s actually kind of having fun. Mind you, _not_ because he enjoys that… whatever that’s happening on the television, but he enjoys seeing Carra so child-like and energized.

But then these... BDSM people show up (chaps in chaps, or whatever they’re called… _what the hell_ , is that a ball-gag), with creepy eyes and lots of leather and spikes. Jamie looks delighted and says “Oh, _that’s_ what I want for my birthday,” pointing to the guy in the collar, and Gary’s just had enough of the fucking spectacle by this point. He stomps into the kitchen for something stronger. Where’s that bourbon… Or maybe vodka.

Tequila?

Stupidly, he wanders back into the living room several songs later, but when Carra jokingly tries to twerk to Belarus’s entry, Gary finally breaks and slams the door behind him, as Carra shouts at him to not drive anywhere, he’s too drunk to drive, and Gary sits down right in the middle of the driveway.

(A week later though, Carra finds “Too Late for Love” on Gary’s phone and just laughs and laughs and laughs.)

## 𝄐

_Jordan Henderson and Adam Lallana_

They should be packing for Marbella. Or, rather, Adam should be packing; Hendo, of course, has already packed all his things away ever so neatly, including four travel-sized bottles of hair gel. (“Four? Seriously, do you really need that many?” “Yes, yes I do.”)

Instead, they’re sitting on Adam’s bed watching what can only be called the most extraordinary singing competition Adam’s ever seen. It’s catchy right off the bat! “We are technicolor, watch us go. We never walk away, na na” and—Adam starts thinking of the Kop’s rousing chant of “You’ll never walk alone” after the Barcelona game. He looks at Jordan and he’s thinking the same thing, grinning widely. _We never walk away_ , indeed.

Hendo hands over the beer they’re sharing, even though there’s a perfectly cold bottle waiting on the nightstand. They watch the Albania singer together, and agree that she’s got an amazing voice. Adam settles his weight into the soft pillows lining the headstand, and nudges Hendo in the arm, getting him to scoot back and do the same.

Oh hey, the color of the Czech guy’s jumper matches Adam’s tee-shirt. It’s his favorite one too; he wore it because he knew Jordan was coming over. Hmm. This song’s vaguely catchy too. He bobs along to it, and Hendo reaches over to ruffle his hair.

He can see Jordan trying to be nonchalant throughout Germany’s song, but he can also see him starting to type out a message to his sister. Adam wonders if the boss listens to music like this, since he’s from Germany.

𝄓

Russia’s next, and it’s another ballad type. Jordan’s just finishing up a long text to his sis, who he hasn’t seen in a while, when he hears sniffling coming from beside him. “Adz, are you… are you crying?”

“It’s good, in’it?”

The singer’s behind a glass frame with rain effects now, and the tears are streaming down Adam’s face in tandem. Oh goodness, Jordan thinks.

But after about five or six more songs, he too is reluctantly charmed. Actually, this Cyprus chick is quite good. And Greece!

By the end of the performances, Jordan has been fully won over, dancing along (well, dancing to the extent that he can from atop the bed; mostly shoulders and arm waving or fists bumping along to the beat).

And by the end, they’ve added several songs—including the ones from Greece and Azerbaijan—to their mix for Marbella.

Adam was already enthused from the beginning, but let’s be honest, it took a little more time for Jordan. He’s a fan now though. _So shut up, about it, shut up about it._

## 𝄐

_Steven Gerrard and Xabi Alonso_

Stevie really isn’t sure why he’s watching. He and his boys have a match against Kilmarnock tomorrow afternoon. He really shouldn’t be watching.

Xabi’s face is poorly lit in the browser window, but he seems to be watching and listening intently. Stevie had called him up on Skype to congratulate him in person (well, as in-person as they could get these days) on the Real Sociedad job. They had texted about it already, of course, but Stevie always appreciated an excuse to gaze at Xabi’s ruggedly handsome face, even if only through the computer screen.

It turns out that Xabi had been watching this show called Euro Vision—or was it all one word, Eurovision?—and convinced Stevie to watch along with him. Stevie never needed much convincing when it came to Xabi. Xabi could probably ask him to strip naked on the pitch of Rugby Park in front of all the away fans, and he’d do it. (Well, he’d at least consider it.)

Apparently Nagore is a big fan of the competition and had gone out to a friend’s house to watch it with her girlfriends. Xabi was curious, and looked it up on the television schedule.

And now they’re watching it, more than a thousand miles away from one another, together.

To be honest, Stevie is a bit confused about the whole thing, and so is Xabi, but. He can tell Xabi loves pretty much everything about it, so, he stays on Skype with him into the wee hours of the night, until Spain has closed out the performance portion of the show.

He can hear Xabi’s melodious Basque accent when he closes his eyes that night.

𝄓

Meanwhile, although it was an even later hour in Madrid, Xabi can’t sleep. He can’t think of anything but the lyrics, _Te compran porque te vendes_. (They buy you because you are for sale.)

 _La venda ya cayó_  
_Y solo quedó la alegría_  
_La venda ya cayó_  
_Y empezarán nuevos días_  
_La venda ya cayó_  
_Avivando fantasías_  
_La venda ya cayó_  
_Y serás como querías  
_ _Lo que ere, lo que ere, ere, ere, e…_

A happy-sounding song but…

Pero todo lo que quería era Stevie.

(But all he wanted was Stevie.)

## 𝄐

_Dele Alli and Eric Dier_

It’s Gogglebox all over again. They’re at Dele’s place, and Eric’s eating grapes. Again.

Dele shoves Eric’s feet off the table to get to his own seat on the couch, and then pats him on the knee.

“This is nice,” Eric garbles through a mouthful of grapes.

“Mmhmm.”

𝄓

“Wait, so is Portugal not in it?”

“Hmm?”

“Is Portugal not in the finals? Aren’t they a part of Europe? Shouldn’t they be here?”

“Hmm.”

Eric starts tapping at things on his phone.

They don’t talk for a bit, just listening to the hosts killing airtime, while Eric continues to stare at his phone, stare turning into a glare as he reads the tiny words on the screen.

“This is so unfair! Portugal should’ve made it!” Another two grapes disappear into his mouth. “Portugal should have won!”

“Eric, mate, do we even know if their song was good?”

“I don’t care! I mean, I haven’t listened to it, but it’s Portugal; of course it’s good Delboy.”

Dele pats him on the knee again, in a consoling gesture.

“There should be a recount. Do they do recounts? They should do a recount.”

“Sure, Eric, we’ll have them do a recount.” Reaches around his neck and pats him on the ear.

“I hate this. I hate this now.”

Dele would have agreed, but he’s starting to think the whole thing isn’t that bad. They’ve just done the replay of the Czech song, Friend of a Friend or whatever it was called, and it was halfway decent, he thinks. Some others were a bit too flamboyant or whatever, but, some of these songs were actually okay.

He still nuzzles into Eric’s side to cuddle him though.

“I’m sad now.”

“It’s okay, Diet. Eat your grapes.”

## 𝄐

_Trent Alexander-Arnold_

Eurovision’s on the telly and he’s watching it with his mum, dad, and brothers. Well, really only his mum is watching.

He doesn’t see what the big fuss is about.

He’d rather be outside practicing crosses.

## 𝄐

_Son Heung-Min and Jan Vertonghen_

They’re not dating, by the way, but Jan was still nervous that Poch might not put him in the line-up for the Champions League final, so Sonny showed up on his doorstep to take his mind off things.

They’re good pals.

Pals who FREAK OUT ABOUT AUSTRALIA’S PERFORMANCE because come on, how come no one else is excited as they are about this angel floating above earth in space??!

They text Dele and Eric about it.

Eric replies:  
“I DON’T CARE IF PORTUGAL’S NOT THERE.”

Jan and Sonny send him an angel emoji.

"👼"

## 𝄐

_James Milner (and Ribena)_

What is this thing they call Eurovision, he thinks, as he sets up the ironing board. He tunes in to the BBC broadcast as he’s laying out the first shirt.

Two perfectly crisp shirts later, Denmark’s on. He likes them.

Another two shirts and a pair of slacks later: United Kingdom. Seems like a nice kid.

Yeah.

Now for a sip of Ribena.

## 𝄐

_Mohamed Salah and Dejan Lovren_

Dejan reaches down to pet the cat (one of the cats, he reminds himself), but it daintily bats his hand away. “Ouch, your little devil just attacked me!”

“Now, now, Dej. She probably jus’ thinks you’re food.”

Dejan sulks.

𝄓

They send videos of themselves watching that one Na Na Na Na Na Na Na (ad nauseum) song to Big Virg, just to annoy him. Virgil sends them the “rolls eyes” emoji and tells them they need to finish packing. “I know you haven’t packed yet Dej.”

Dejan huffs. “Yeah, yeah,” he says aloud. Mo smiles at him. He kind of forgets what exactly they’re doing, but he likes it. Mo’s there, after all.

And the fluffy devil-cat.

𝄓

Luka Modrić texts Dejan to ask what he’s up to, and then after the reply asks if Croatia is in the finals.

Dejan keeps getting texts the rest of the night that solely consist of an angel face followed by multiple (multiple) frowning emojis.

He sends Luka a picture of the devil-cat that he screenshot from Mo’s Instagram. The cat still doesn’t let him touch it.

Luka still sends frowning emojis back.

"🙁🙁🙁"

## 𝄐

_Jordan Pickford_

“What the fuck is this shite?!!!”

 

 

  


THE END 𝄂

  


**Author's Note:**

> Don’t listen to Gary; root for Hatari! (I know they’re not likely to win, but regardless, they’re my pick, along with Australia. I know. Against my better judgement, Australia. Kate Miller-Heidke gave me no choice!!!)
> 
> This started out as a crack!fic idea that I wrote in my email drafts, and turned into this, which is like… halfway between crackfic and me genuinely taking it seriously. Which, I’ve gotta say, is also pretty much how I approach Eurovision anyway. Btw obviously this was written before the finals actually aired, so, I've based any details about performances on the livestream of the semifinals.
> 
> Thanks to TheBlackWook for suggesting (after I accosted them in their tumblr chatbox) that Gary would secretly enjoy it and have a playlist. "I raise you : Gary progressively liking it but he'll be damned before he'll admit it or show it. Until Jamie discovers either his Eurovision playlist on his phone or either catches Gary voting furiously for his fave one year." The rest is my dumb, unproofread nonsense.
> 
> (If you need a translation of Spain's song "La venda," I was using [this translation](https://wiwibloggs.com/2019/03/17/la-venda-lyrics-translation-miki-spain/).)
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated, as always! And you can come say hi on tumblr if you'd like: <https://dr-azumi-fujita.tumblr.com/>
> 
> P.S. 𝄆 Ze-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ro / Gra-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-vity 𝄇


End file.
